Crush
by HexKey
Summary: Steve explores Clint's kinks with Natasha showing him the ropes. Belly Kink. Rope Bondage. Consenual Kink. Threesome.
1. Chapter 1

_partially inspired by the image found here: _

.com (slash) post (slash) 73992660851

_(sorry - you'll have to refactor the url by removing all the spaces and typing in the dots and slashes. Or we could all just use AO3 until FF catches up with the times... But the picture is TOTALLY worth the trouble. If, you know, you are into that sort of thing. Ahem. The picture is obviously not JR, but it kinda looks a lot like him.)_

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"Something new?" I inquired, wiping away the grit from the split seams of the latest bag.

"Well, new to you."

"There's more?" I asked incredulously, realizing too late how ridiculous I sounded.

She smiled warmly, and I felt like even more of a dope. "There's always more. This one is...just a kink. Took him a while to share it, even with me."

That surprised me; Clint shared almost everything with everybody. How the man could be so good at his job, so silent and patient and yet still rival Tony in his level of over-sharing was always impressive.

Although, now that I thought about it, the man _could_ keep a secret. Even with all the loaded glances, surreptitious caresses and almost-innuendos, he'd never breathed a word or betrayed a hint of the arrangement between the three of us. But I always assumed it was simply the result of a death-threat from Natasha.

She had approached me today in the gym with same polite seduction she adopted those long months ago. That day, she found me looking out over the skyline in this city that was decidedly not the one I grew up in. She sidled close to me and, tracing idle patterns on my skin with her deft touch, invited me to "visit" her and Clint sometime. Her implication was clear, even to me; I didn't realize how much modern social mores had already infiltrated my consciousness. So much so that even her proposal didn't shock me.

Or maybe Natasha is just that good; that a few words in that smoky voice of hers could draw me away from what I previously considered pretty established parameters in my life and into this arrangement with hardly a backward glance.

Either way, I couldn't get it out of my head. The provocative words kept me up at night and followed me around in my waking hours. I found myself watching her, watching him, and wondering. Clint caught me studying him from behind the book I was hardly even pretending to read, and gifted me with an assessing glance and a sly smirk before returning his attention to his coffee. Natasha brushed against him when she entered the kitchen and took the cup he offered her. She pretended to not even see me as she stirred a generous helping of sugar, slid her spoon in her mouth to taste the sweetness and sauntered out.

I knocked on their door that night.

So now, several months and lots of nights since, when she said those words with that same dark promise, I knew how to interpret her meaning.

And I understood the intensity in Clint's eyes as he disappeared through the gym's exit. It occurred to me that his haste was to give Natasha time to put this new proposition on the table. I was intrigued; of course I was.

"What are you going to do?" I asked.

"What are we going to do," she corrects. "Clint has a bit of a fixation. He gets really turned on when you punch or press his stomach."

I blinked. I thought of some of the perverse paraphelias I'd seen on the internet. Once JARVIS set me up with a way to privately "Google," I'd done a fair amount of research —I thought of if as porn with a purpose. This one was new, and much more appealing than, say, feet or just general pain, and less daunting than some of the more extreme ways to inflict torture in erotic settings.

"That's it?"

"Yes," she confirmed.

I'd noticed the extra attention he paid to my abs and to Natasha's, how she sometimes positioned herself to exert pressure in one way or another on her partner's midsection while we reconfigured ourselves in bed or on the floor. In fact the strange position she arranged him in last time made a lot more sense; she placed him in such a way that each time I pushed into him, I ground his belly into the back of the chair.

I hadn't understood dominance and submission when we first began; and I never would have thought to find such satisfaction in it, even though we usually played on a more equal footing. But we'd never really set out to hurt one another, with the intention of finding pleasure in pain but it sure seemed like that was the plan tonight. I unexpectedly found my senses humming at the prospect.

"Show me," I said.


	2. Chapter 2

Clint. Tonight was all about Clint. We'd never focused so clearly on him before. They devoted a lot of attention to me. And as for Natasha, well, come on.

At first, I think they were careful not to push too hard, scrupulous about not making me uncomfortable. She and I had even been together a few times while he was away, but I hadn't been with just Clint for more than a few pre-Natasha minutes.

Well, and that one memorable time in the weapon locker. So one afternoon, Clint followed me in to the locker without a word, waved a small device to dampen the cameras and pressed me against the racks in the far corner. When he's not tied to the bed, he's quite assertive. He kissed me hard for a few minutes, massaging my cock and rapidly coaxing me to impossible hardness while biting short-lived, but intense purple marks on my throat and circling my nipple roughly through my shirt. He dropped to his knees and sucked me off until my legs almost buckled, coming into his palm almost the same time I released down his throat.

He stood up, arranged his clothes, gave me a lingering kiss that tasted like me, and walked away, whistling.

After that, we fell into more relaxed patterns. I even found out later that he hadn't turned off the cameras, just rerouted them for Natasha's private viewing.

I smiled fondly at the memory.

Fucking spies.

Natasha skin glowed pinkly against the bright white of her uncharacteristically demure bra and panty set. and her hair swayed in damp curls. Her lips and pupils seemed especially full and her neck bore signs of chaffing from Clint's stubble.

She dragged me down to her, forcing her mouth against mine. I wasn't sure what to expect, so I decided to enjoy the Natasha-exclusive time.

Kissing her like this always emphasized how small she is. I know she'd probably kill me if I picked her up, but it's always a temptation. Clint is more evenly matched with her in these terms(well, in any terms, really); he can hold her and kiss her without much bending and when he presses behind her, he can grind against her or relish the curvature of her neck and their bodies aline. She fits well with him.

She intertwined our fingers and tugged me towards the bedroom after indicating for me to shuck my shoes and shirt. "He's been badgering me for a while to add some of the kinbaku we used to do ," she says. I had no idea what kinbaku was, so I filed it away to look up later, but as soon as I entered the room, I decided google had nothing on what lay before me.

Blindfolded, Clint lay on top of the neatly made bed, bound in a loose spread eagle. Intricate rope work made a mosaic of geometric shapes on his upper and lower body, but crisscrossed under his back and across his sides to leave his belly completely exposed. There was some tension in the ropes that stretched across the back of his neck, but those near his throat merely gave the illusion of tautness, placing no actual pressure. The bindings looped low across his hips and drew around his already-erect cock such that they would apply gentle pressure as he moved. His legs were tied shoulder width apart, with each ankle affixed to a bed post and more rope patterns between them holding him firmly but not stretched to extremes. His arms were held at less forgiving angles - his chest stretched wide, pectoral muscles and triceps held in sharp relief under his just-scrubbed skin. I realize she's arranged the pillows to position him like this; his torso taut, his abdomen open and canted.

My breath hitched at the sight of him.

"Doesn't he look amazing?" She pressed close, dragging her nails across the back of my neck and I nodded wordlessly.

"Wanna play?" she asked, with a quirk of those curvy lips. My mouth went dry at the prospect.

Natasha and I shared an unease with being tied up for sex; it felt too much like some deeply unpleasant real-life scenarios where pleasure, at least not mutual pleasure, had decidedly not been the goal.

Barton didn't seem to share the same reservations or associations, even though I knew for certain he too had found himself at the mercy of a hostile rope. We had tied Clint up a few times before, but never like this, opting for the simplicity of handcuffs or a single length of rope or even a tie. Maybe he was better at compartmentalizing, maybe he used this to clear his head of those bad experiences. Regardless, I was eager to explore.

I moved towards him.

"Wait," she said, voice low, "I want to let him sweat it out a while first. I like it if he doesn't know exactly where we are or when you've arrived." It was then I noticed the thin white lines of ear phones training across his throat and under the pillows. "He can't hear us. I like the uncertainty." She smiled almost guiltily.

He breathed slowly and deliberately, obviously trying to master himself. His smooth stomach rolling with each breath. He seemed to be almost unconsciously testing his bonds; subtle shifts in the tension of each muscle.

"He's talked about this for a while; in fact he used to fantasize about this out loud even before we asked. Did you know that? That Clint is the one who wanted to pursue you? He was crushing on you for months before I finally convinced him to let me ask you."

My face heated at the unexpected.

"Seriously?" she continued, "you are _blushing_. About _that_?"

I shrugged and felt the redness deepen. "Months," I cleared my throat, "really?"

She nodded. "Especially since that training session...".

I remembered the one; Clint tagged me pretty hard in the head. In that moment of disorientation, I misjudged and slammed a punch directly into his midsection. I'd wanted him to go to medical, I'd hit him so hard. Suddenly, I wondered if he'd taken the blow intentionally. I found that thought...distasteful.

"It was an accident," she added, sensing my discomfort. "He wanted you before, but after that..."

I still wasn't sure how I felt about it. "Well, um, good. I thought I really hurt him."

"You did, kind of. His stomach was bruised for a week. He said it even hurt to bend to put on his socks."

"Oh, man," I said. I still felt pretty badly about it.

"Are you kidding? He fucking loved it. Even though I was on top for a while because he said it hurt too much to do more than lay there. But eventually, I think he was just milking it."

Still in silent darkness, he endured and she continued to talk about him while we observed. I began to reconsider my opinions some forms of bondage, but I don't think I would want any one to do to it me, certainly not for the purpose of letting someone hit me.

He worked his face around for a second; his nose itched.

Natasha flinched, probably in response to her impulse to offer him some relief before catching herself and crossing her arms over her chest.

"You can leave him like... that," I gestured to his erection, "but you can't let him have an itch."

She glared briefly at me, before conceding the point.

"Ready?" she asked.


	3. Chapter 3

She stalked silently to the side of the bed. He shifted slightly, sensing her proximity and seemed to fight his inclination to tense when she rested one knee on the bed by his hip. I wondered if she was going to just strike, to smash a hard blow in the center of his body.

Instead, she pressed slowly, the flat of her palm, the heel of her hand, alternating, pushing his navel towards his spine.

I realized how careful I was going to have to be; she's strong, sure, but she probably couldn't unintentionally cause him serious injury. I could miscalculate and deal him a crushing, fatal blow pretty easily. I have to be careful whenever I'm in contact with other "normal" humans all the time, but deliberately pushing into his abdomen as Natasha was doing was risky. Punching might just be tempting fate. Knowing Clint, the danger of my strength was probably part of the thrill, but I was worried I couldn't do this.

Then, he made the most delicious noise I've ever heard, a deep, throaty moan and writhed. Unconsciously, my hand drifted to my own cock and I wanted to hear him make a noise like that under me.

Natasha seemed to sense my unspoken conflict.

"Just be careful; go slow. He knows his limits. And he's pretty easy to please. I throw a few punches, I have this," she said, gesturing to the flogger on the nightstand, " but it's mostly this." With that, she made a fist with her knuckles extended and pushed down hard on his lower belly.

She dislodged one of the earbuds, "He knows he's not allowed to flex. Do what you want; he won't complain. He learned his lesson about topping from below a long time ago." She tugged on his hair, pulling his head aside, but not hard. Playfully. Fondly. He smirked and she released his hair and replaced the earbuds.

Damn. I would have _really_ liked to have witnessed _**that**_ lesson.

She indicated that I should join her on his other side. I walked slowly around the bed, taking in the view from different angles.

He sensed the change as I sat on the bed and then curved his spine up to meet her new incursion. "Hi Steve," his voice was already roughened with lust.

Natasha snatched one of the ear buds, "No talking," she chastised, before reinserting it once more. She produced a small flogger with a leather wrapped handle and laid a few stinging lines across his chest as he pulled against the ropes.

Reorienting her grip, she shoved the broad handle of the implement deep into his navel, first with several sharp jabs and then back to the hard probing. I felt my eyes widen at the display; it's exactly what she had described but seeing the object sink in unresisted accompanied by his groan was unexpectedly erotic.

He licked his lips, swallowed hard and then gasped when she pushed the handle into a seemingly random spot to the upper right of his belly button. The breath whistled through his clenched teeth.

"Acupressure point," she explained,

She offered the flogger to me, but I demured, not quite ready to start probing so deeply, I ran the pads of my fingers in increasingly larger circles, applying gentle pressure and getting a feel for his responses. He shifted uncomfortably when I brushed along a particularlyy wicked scar that tore along his left side above his hip. I returned my attention to the contours defining his abs, adding a few licks and kisses.

I stroked my whole hand over his stomach, leading with a deep pressing sweep and then I began to explore. Sometimes, I followed a punch by holding my fist rigid to press that hollowed out, desperate feeling down into him. I twisted around, rotating my wrist when the punch was fully seated, enjoying the sensation. He'd bit his lip like he was trying to hold in the groan but eventually it would escape in a panting exhalation.

Other times, I'd immediately release and the stroke the pain away in a series of deep, rapid caresses, his guts shifting as I smoothed deep furrows in his pliant muscles. The gasps he made were more varied and thrilling, made more so since many were muffled against my own mouth. I kissed him, tasting the different noises; my lips ranging over his mouth and throat.

I tried pulsing a series of staccato jabs and he arched and twisted and bit back a few pleas and curses.

I also pressed kisses to his torso; a soothing caresses of my lips and tongue against the contours of muscle and lingering incursions of my teeth, tugging at the taut skin until he shuddered and strained at his ropes.

While I worked, Natasha watched her partner for any sign of distress. Her pupils dilated, her lips flushing crimson and her nipples painfully hard points, but she watched with an equal mixture of avid fascination and careful monitoring. I had no doubt that she was more accurately reading his condition as any vitals. Not that any of the impacts were swift or hard; but she wasn't trusting Clint's well-being to my inexperience or his dubious sense of self-preservation.

Natasha explained that when they played, sometimes it started out as an endurance test; how long could he withstand her assault before she eroded his control and he could no longer prevent the blows from sinking in. While that sounded athletic, I couldn't imagine it was half as erotic as this yielding, gasping, precarious game we were playing.

The throaty rumble of his moans slowly evolved into a series breathy, strained pants and keens. I continued to smooth my hands over him, but didn't thrust into him anymore.

"Please don't stop," he begged, his voice edged as he arched against his bonds.

I explored the perimeter of his belly, trying to find areas I hadn't already worked, but his most satisfying reactions remained when I returned to the middle of his stomach. I kneaded the perspiring skin, alternating short, shallower presses, under his ribs, on his navel, near his sides above his hips and lower where the trail of sandy hairs began to thicken.

Natasha slipped from the bed and silently ended this part of the game by removing his blindfold and ear buds. Clint blinked slowly as his eyes adjusted and then watched with a steady, burning intensity as she undressed me. She pressed close behind me twined her arms around me. Her hands roamed on my chest for a moment before deftly removing my belt and undoing my fly. I stepped out of my pants and boxers, my legs faltering a bit as she squeezed me and my erection twitched against her.

She looped and unfurled the belt, grasping the buckle and testing the snap of worn heavy leather.

"For talking," she said simply to Clint. Instead of the scattered lines of the flogger, she applied the belt in bright stripes of pain across his stomach. He arched up off the bed, pulling tightly against his bonds.

When she offered the belt back to me, I took it, but it wasn't for the purpose for disciplining him. He remained in that stretched position, his hips thrust skyward. I quickly snaked the belt under him and centered it, passing the tail of the strap through the broad hasp of the buckle.

I started to slide the belt tight around his waist, his stomach protesting the constriction with a gurgling rumble that was silenced when the hasp caught. He moaned and shifted as if he could lessen the stricture or move away from it.

Placing my hand just above the base of his cock, I urged him to lower his hips back on the bed. He looked at me, glassy-eyed, lips parted. I leaned down to kiss him, one hand brushing his damp hair from his forehead, the other running a slow ascent along his length. He groaned my name against my lips.

"You, no talking," she slapped his shoulder but made no move for the flogger. "And you, no touching," she ordered in the same cool voice and guided my hand away . He chased the loss with another needy moan.

"Would you like it if I fucked you like this?" I whispered, my lips inches from his ear. My palm on his hip bone made prominent by the strap. He opened his mouth to answer before nodding silently. "Do you think it would hurt? Could you take it, do you think?" He swallowed hard, perspiration highlighting the hollow of his throat, and then shook his head.

Natasha agreed with him, her index finger stroking the pale line that divided his reddened skin and the dark leather, indicating for me to take the belt off him. Clint tried to suck in a sharp breath, prevented by the direct pressure on his diaphragm. I could see he was reaching his limits; both with the belt squeezing his stomach but also how much longer he could endure. I cinched the belt tighter in order to remove it. He looked dazed when the strap of leather fell away. He sighed with relief but tinged with disappointment and rolled his hips against the bonds as if to return everything to its proper position. The ropes tugged at his erection, making it sway.

I felt flushed, more excited than I'd ever been at the thought of hurting another person. Even before he nixed the idea, I knew that it was too dangerous and had drawn the line in my head; even if he pleaded, I wouldn't have done it. But I thrilled at the thought and realized that this act was going to join a catalog of other shadowy images of things I would never do, but would file away in a dark corner of my mind to bring out and examine in secret.

He chewed his lip and glanced at his partner. I realized he thought he'd disappointed me. I kissed him again, warm and breathless. I continued to ignore her directive and stroked his cock, extorting a mixture of shuddering groans and helpless little pleas.

"Maybe I'll just lay Tasha right on top of your stomach, put the blindfold back on and let you feel me fuck her. How about that?"

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TBC


End file.
